BOG WAKES!
THE BOGS
Steam erupted, filling the air. The moisture dropped on the moss ridden trees and ran down their ancient barks. They surrounded the bog, silent observers, watchers to a dormant slumbering forgotten unwashed beast. A beast too smelly to be placed in one tribe, for it reeked of more than one musical lineage. Tainted, deemed unpure, untrue to live within The Gate.
The bog pools continued to boil, spitting forth the sounds
of many tribes. A chorus followed, guttural to your human ears, but understood by
those of the bog. The words repeated over and over, the bogs violently reacted,
bubbling, spewing, then bursting and firing more and more filth to blanket the
sodden and already soaked marshland.
BOG WAKES
The central bog began parting, a crack appearing. A snore and muttered cuss words sounded from below; ‘Who the f*ck is it now?’
It turned over, pulling a dust ridden cloak around their
disgusting body, closing its eyes again, then the stench hit its nostrils. The
sacred odor, not used since the time of the 4th Bog War. The foul
rancid smell lingered around Bog’s nostrils, teasing his senses. Calling to him
through rotten means to awaken for a purpose.
Bog’s eye’s sprang open, then he slowly looked around the cave where he lay. He was enveloped by the stench, the sacred fragrance passed down from the profusely
sweaty one whom dwelled in the sewers. The guttural tones were next to strike
his senses. He heard the words, although direct ‘wake up you lazy f*ck!’, he
knew what they really meant.
Bog pulled his lazy ass upright, the dust ridden sheet falling to the broken cold stone floor. Bog closed his eyes again, listening to the words, remembering, seeing where it stood, smug guards laughing at those they had turned away, or cast out. Lines and lines of potential supporters to honor the sounds, but turned away with spears pointed at their backs. Bog eyes opened again, he turned, walked out of the cave, striding forward up the steps to appear in the bogs.
BOG HAS WOKEN
Bog stood solitary, the moonlight shone on his gruesome skin. The words had stopped; the bog pools had stopped spitting their bile. He stared ahead, remembering The Great Gate, which was beyond the Reaping Sands. His hands closed, forming into fists, the vibrant veins were clear. A calm had returned to the bogs, the pools were silent, everything quiet, not the even the leaves rustled on the moss ridden trees. Nothing, but Bog stood alone in the murky water, his voice breaking the eerie silence;
'Smash the gate.’
#bogwakes #smashthegate #bogstenchmare
